Tom Riddle's Revenge
by Stuffedolive92
Summary: Follows HP6 pg 342,Tom Riddle after comfronting Morfin Gaunt, discovers his past, becoming disturbed and as a result slaughters the Riddles in cold blood. He bewitches Morfin to take the blame and steals the Slytherin ring. Delves into the mysterious past of Tom Riddle and examines how his twisted and demented youth brought him to develop to the infamous Voldermort. Please REVIEW!


Morfin Gaunt, staggered slightly and pushing his hair from his eyes, raised his knife and shouted, "_Dishonoured us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit…it's over…_"

Tom stared at this hysterical man before him, who was so mentally impaired or drunk that he couldn't even speak Parseltongue properly, his words slurred and broken. He glanced around the filthy house again and felt a bitter disgust swell within him as he realised that this was his heritage; the last of the great pure-blood families, the descendants of Salazar Slytherin, reduced to nothing but squalor, inbreeding and a complete loss of dignity. How could he possibly be related?

"_I said who're are you?_" Morfin shouted again, jabbing his knife at the air. "_Answer me or I'll cut that pretty boy face of yours right up!_"

He made what was supposed to be a deft movement, but which came out as clumsy at Tom, who quickly whipped out his wand and hit him with a jinx, tripping him over. Morfin, collapsed into a heap on the dirty floor, sending plumes of dust into the air, as he growled and attempted to get up.

"I wouldn't do that," said Tom in English, kicking Morfin's knife out of his hand but letting him keep his wand. He always liked a challenge.

"If you want to fight me, don't use something that filthy Muggles do."

Morfin squinted at him for a moment and picked up his wand; yet instead of getting up, he chose to remain on the floor.

"You look mighty like that Muggle, but you ain't think like him," he said, tapping his temple with a thick finger. "Who are you?"

Tom couldn't believe that Morfin hadn't figured it out yet, the reason that he was here, the reason he could speak Parseltongue; but then before he knew it, the squat man's face had curled into a gloating grin.

"Ahh, I know," he said wheezing. "I know _who_ you are! I know _what_ you are!"

He began to cackle hysterically and pointed his finger at Tom, who stood there quietly.

"You're their bastard! You're my blood traitor sister's bastard son!"

He rolled around on the floor laughing for a minute or so, before the humour of it dried up and he suddenly sat up, his face furious.

"Filthy half-blood!" he exclaimed, his small sharp eyes boring into Tom's. "That's what you are! How dare you step foot in my house! I should 'ave known before…you've been to Riddle's house ain't you? And when he didn't want ya, you come over here didn't you?"

Tom stared at him in shock, his wand still raised at Morfin who flung hate at him, accusing him of being as inferior as Muggles themselves, something which spurred a violent hatred within him.

"Stop it!" bellowed Tom, spittle coming from his mouth. "Stop it, right now!"

But Morfin either unable to hear him or deliberately ignoring him, continued on his angry rant.

"Of course he didn't want you! Who would want you? You think after all these years, when he left my dirty sister that he's gonna want to see you? You're wrong!"

Suddenly, Morfin seized his chair in rage and threw it at the fire place, the flames bursting into sparks as the wooden structure exploded into pieces against the stone mantel piece.

"Quiet!" shouted Tom, who'd strangely began to weep.

Morfin taking no notice, thrust his arm towards the window. "I ought to ave' gone and twisted her head off with my bare hands, after she defiled our name like that! Cos then Riddle goes n' returns to his big Muggle house over the hill where he forgot about her and lives like a ponce! N' while me and my father are rotting in Azkaban, my bleeding sister goes and takes our Slytherin locket, our family heirloom, and sells it off just so she can support her bastard child and I bet she got what she wanted, cos you look exactly like-"

"Stupefy!"

There was a sharp bang and then a flash of white, as Morfin was lifted off his feet and thrown across the room, crashing into stove which looked like it was one touch from falling to pieces.

Tom stood there, his chest heaving as he stowed away his wand and dismissively wiped the wet from his eyes. Under the wreckage of the stove, Morfin was stirring feebly but stopped when he passed out just as Tom stooped down to pick up his wand.

Examining it between his long fingers, Tom saw how elegant it was at twelve inches and made from Chestnut, and thought of how ironic it was that such a tramp of a wizard could deserve it. Such a fine wand should be put to good use.

Glancing at Morfin one last time, Tom turned and walked towards the window which his uncle had been point at before. Peering out, he saw an embankment which rose up on the other side of the valley and upon it was a great white manor house which crowned the head of the hill top. Staring at it, he felt an overpowering sense of disgust and fury rise up from the pit of his stomach and then shoot up through his body, filling him with an inexplicable violent urge. His mind as well was rushing with this sensation, going too fast that he couldn't comprehend what he was thinking until he felt Morfin's wand in his hand. It was only then, when his mind suddenly froze that he knew what he wanted; it was revenge, he was thirsty for revenge.

Clenching it tight in his hand, he pulled up the collar of his black cloak and burst out of the door, his dark eyes fixed on the house which gleamed upon the hill like a treasure waiting to be claimed.

Frank Bryce, the gardener of Riddle Manor, huffed as he shovelled manure into the garden bed, the smell stinging his nose as he tried to keep it as far away from his body as possible. On his watch, he could see that it was nearly six o'clock in the evening and gave a sigh as he grudgingly thought of how the Riddle's liked making him work this late.

"Rich buggers," he muttered as he looked at the extensive beauty of the garden grounds and reminisced on the irony of how he as a gardener, one of the most humble occupations, did all this work to maintain the Riddle's prestige.

As he stooped down to scoop up another mound of steaming dung, Frank failed to notice the young man dressed in a black cloak and with a distinctive handsome face, slip through the gate and head to the open door which led to the servant's quarters.

Instead, he stood up straight and stretched, before throwing his shovel into the manure cart and returned to the shed, grumbling about how he wished he was magic and could finish all of this before tomorrow.

Tom closed the door quietly behind him and murmured _Lumos_ as he wandered around the corridors of what he guessed were the servant's quarters, which were strangely vacant. One part of him was disappointed at this realisation because deep down he was hoping that there was someone that he could practice his new found rage on. Turning a corner, he finally discovered an ascending stair case and climbed it, his heart racing when he heard the sound of voices from the next floor.

"Of course dear," said a particularly high one, when he reached the landing. "The war is a ghastly thing to be happening, but you have to understand that Britain is going to suffer regardless…we're going to _suffer_."

He grinned at the sound of that word _suffer_ andhe relished at how fitting it was to this occasion, as he paced down the corridor.

"Money, mother," said a deep male voice. "We can't afford to lose more of it, that's why I'm suggesting we sell off half our owner ship of Little Hangleton and concentrate it on the family instead. The future must be considered…you and father are getting older and Cecilia and I are expecting our _fourth_ _child_."

Tom froze._ Children_…this filthy Muggle man, his 'father', had married his mother and then when she had become pregnant had left her with nothing and then had the decency to crawl back to his affluent lifestyle and have a second family as if nothing had happened. The thought made him grit his teeth and he forced himself to swallow back bitterness.

"How is Cecilia these days?" asked an elderly male voice. "I heard she was expecting a boy at last."

"Yes," laughed his father. "It's a relief finally. I mean, I love my girls but after three of them, I've started to crave a son and of course we will be calling him Tom-Who are you?"

At that point Tom, his face cold and enraged, had stormed into the room, his wand raised, every inch of his body tingling as if a current were running through it.

Everyone before him, an old couple in their sixties and a younger man in his late thirties stood up quickly, their faces torn half between shock and intrigue as they witnessed this boy who looked exactly like their son.

"T-Tom," said the older lady, her voice quavering as she looked between the man and the boy. "I-I don't understand…h-he looks…"

She was lost for words, as well as her husband who fumbled his glasses on and gasped as he saw the appearance of the young intruder, whose wand they were ignorant to.

"E-exactly the same," he concluded. "Identical almost…but younger…T-Tom?"

To a perfect stranger, who the Riddles were to the younger Tom, it was undeniable that this boy was the product of Tom Riddle senior, who was an exact replica only that his skin was more weathered with age and he had a silver streak going through his jet black hair. However, just because his parents had accepted it didn't mean Tom Riddle Senior had.

"He's not my son!" he shouted, pointing a finger at the boy, his eyes fixed on the older Riddles. "H-he's not my son! I t-told you! I had no idea what I was doing when it happened!"

He clapped a hand to his mouth, his eyes bulging as his son Tom, who stared at him, unable to act on his murderous instinct yet.

"What do you mean?" said the old man viciously at him. "All you said was that you married some tramp! You never mentioned that she had your-," he glared daggers at the boy, "-bastard child and now it's come back to haunt you!"

Tom Riddle Senior, shook his head vigorously, his finger of denial still strongly pointed.

"I was hoodwinked!" he exclaimed hoarsely, his stare boring into the boy's. "He is not my son!"

At that moment when the young Tom saw the rejection in his father's eyes, he not only saw his refusal to acknowledge his son but also his mother, Merope.

He saw him pushing her away, his expression full of disgust when his gaze fell on her pregnant belly, he saw him walking away, her figure growing fainter in the grimy streets of London where she'd been left. Then the final scene, which was sharp and clear, was of him returning to his affluent life at the Manor, free of burden, an ignorant Muggle life. All of these vivid images, twisted in Tom's head, coming to meet his violent urge.

"Avada Kadrava!" cried Tom and he flung his arm at his father, a green jet of light streaking forward and hitting him in the chest. He watched as the life passed from Tom Senior's eyes, his face etched in terror as he fell to the ground, the thump mixed with the shriek of his mother.

Tom felt an excitement course through him, as he stared at his slain father, his thirst only partially quenched.

His head snapped towards Riddle's parents who were backing away into a corner, the door to escape having been blocked by Tom. The older man's eyes were fixed to his son who was dead on the ground, as he tried to protect his wife who was sobbing behind him.

"W-What did you do to my son?" he gasped, as Tom approached. "Answer me boy! I'm not afraid!"

Tom smiled; he loved seeing how pathetic such 'honourable' people could be reduced to when faced with death. This man had obviously been a hero of his time as he still wore the metals, as if to remind himself of that achievement every day.

"Don't point that thing at me!" he boomed, although his voice was marred with fear. "D-Did you hear me?"

Tom jabbed his wand playfully at the terrified couple and watched as they shrunk back in terror, before murmuring, "Avada Kedrava."

A flash of light filled the air again and this time the couple were slain at the same time, both of them falling to the ground in a crumpled heap, their eyes wide open.

Tom stowed away Morfin's wand and gazed at what he'd done, satisfaction swelling in his chest as he saw that the older man's arms had been stretched out in front of his wife as a useless physical barrier.

He laughed at how stupid this was and then for the next five minutes paced around the room, examining his handiwork as if at an art gallery. By the end of it, he came to a conclusion that these murders were pure genius; they were clean, sleek and in terms of anyone tracing them back to him, merely impossible for both the Wizarding and Muggle investigators.

Sighing, he turned to leave and stopped only when he treaded on his father's hand. Whipping around, he saw his face which was still contorted in terror, staring up at him. There was a kind of comical aspect to his expression as if he were frozen in time waiting in anticipation for something to happen, which made Tom laugh hysterically.

"Why so shocked dad?" he grinned, looking into his blank eyes. "Still surprised to see me?"

Chuckling, he stepped back until he heard the crack on his father's bones beneath his foot, before walking out, a fleeting feeling rising within him.

As Tom walkked onto the threshold of the Gaunt house, he found that the door was open and stepping inside cautiously, he found the room vacant all except for a figure that was sprawled over the worm wood infested table. As he approached, treading over grimy pots and pans, Morfin half sat up, his grizzled beard covered in blood from where he must have split his lip from the curse.

"You!" he roared or tried to, before Tom strode over and got him around the throat.

"Don't you breathe another word," hissed the boy, pointing Morfin's wand to the man's neck. "Understand?"

Morfin stared at him, his tiny piggish eyes narrowing on Tom's for a moment, before his waxy face broke into a smile of jagged yellow teeth and he let out a barking laugh.

"You killed em' did you?" he said, whooping. "You killed them Riddles! I can see it in your face!"

Tom drew back disgusted at how obvious he could be, and in his discomfort drove the wand further into the man's throat so that he squirmed.

"Don't mock me," he breathed, his eyes flashing dangerously. "You laugh one more time and I'll kill you right now."

Morfin shook his head, a leering smile still on his face.

"I will," continued Tom quietly. "I don't care if you're the last pure blood of this family; I'll do it and leave you to rot like the Gaunt name."

This wiped the smirk off Morfin and he started to hyperventilate.

"You wouldn't," he hissed. "N-Not me, I'm the last of them…you can't kill me."

"Why not?" murmured Tom, jabbing the wand deeper so that Morfin's skin blossomed with a bruise. "You said it yourself, that it was 'over.'"

"Please," wheezed Morfin, struggling to breathe. "Please, don't kill me…I've lost me father and…s-sister. I'll do anything for you, please…"

Tom saw the older Riddles' terrified faces moments before he killed them, flash within his head and he was engulfed by the same satisfaction of twisting his victims around his fingers. Morfin at this point was no different because being unarmed put him in the same category as a pathetic Muggle.

"Alright then," said Tom, shoving him back so that he smacked his head on the table. "I'll spare you your life, as you would prove useful."

For what, he didn't know just yet.

"Thankyou," said Morfin, slipping off the table and sinking to his knees. "Thankyou…I'll do anything for you…you see I just got out of Azkaban for hurtin' some Muggles in the town n' I lost my father there and all I've got is this old shack and it's like home."

Tom listened to Morfin's fight for existence, but it wasn't to justify his decision to keep him alive, but rather he was interested in it for another reason.

Morfin had been send to Azkaban for assaulting Muggles in the town, which meant that he had a history of aggression towards them. This meant that anything done of magic against a Muggle in Little Hangleton could be possibly linked back to him, so that he was made accountable. After all, out of a crazy Muggle hating offender and a school boy with a perfect record, who was the Ministry going to believe? It was too good to ignore, plus with the use of Morfin's wand as a weapon…it was going to be a perfectly framed crime.

"Sit down," said Tom, gesturing to the dirty ground at his feet and watched as Morfin obediently followed and sat.

"I'll do whatever you want," the man murmured reassuringly to him as he crossed his legs. "Anything."

"Shut up," Tom said as he took out his own wand this time, and pocketed Morfin's. "Stay still."

Closing his eyes, he tried to remember where he'd read about False Memory Charms and how to perform them and when it came to him, he opened them again, pointing his wand to the man's head.

"_Falso accounto_," he said quietly and felt a tingle run down his arm as he concentrated hard.

All of a sudden Morfin's head flopped, lolling on his shoulder and he let out a moan as if he were half asleep.

Tom smiled, unable to contain his excitement as he tried to make the most of Morfin's trance like state as this meant his mind was completely open.

"You, Morfin Gaunt."

"_I_ Morfin Gaunt," he repeated, dumbly.

"…have gone over to the house of the Riddles' and snuck in through the servant's quarters…"

"…_I_ have gone over to the house of the Riddles' and snuck in through the servant's quarters…"

Tom licked his dry lips with delight, continuing. "…came to the Riddle's sitting room where they were all talking…"

"…_I_ came to the Riddle's sitting room where they were all talking…" Morfin echoed, swaying.

"…then strode in and killed them one by one…Tom Riddle first, then his father and mother…"

"…then _I _strode in and killed them one by one…Tom Riddle first, then his father and mother…"

Tom drew in a sharp intake of breathe for the last part. "Because you've always hated them and wanted to see them suffer…they are stupid Muggles and you thought it was easy. You found it fun killing them like that…you're proud that you killed them."

Morfin nodded, "…because _I've_ always hated them and _I_ wanted to see them suffer…they are stupid Muggles and _I_ thought it was easy. _I_ found it fun killing them like that…_I'm_ proud that _I _killed them."

"Good," said Tom and removing his wand from Morfin's head, the charm had finished and so had the framing.

Tom was no longer the culprit, as Morfin would happily admit that he'd done it, if not eagerly and possibly boastfully.

"What did you do today Morfin?" he questioned, patting the man on the shoulder to see how it'd worked.

Morfin, jumped to his feet and turned to face Tom, his eyes more crazy than usual and his face warped by a large twisted grin.

"I killed some Muggles!" he exclaimed, in the tone of a young proud child.

Tom mocked an appraising smile. "Really? Who Morfin? Who did you kill?"

"The Riddle's," he said, thrilled. "I killed them in their house. I was very sneaky, I went through the Servant's quarters and then I cornered them in their sitting room and shot them down!"

"Good," said Tom and pulling out Morfin's wand, he handed it to the deranged man. "This is for you."

"Oh, wow!" he said, gazing at it as if it were the most enchanting thing he'd ever seen. "A wand!"

"Not any wand," replied Tom, "it's your wand…you dropped it outside, so I'm here to return it to you."

"Oh great, thankyou!" he laughed and cradling the piece of wood, he went to sit on the table top, his eyes fixed to it lovingly. "What can I give you in return?"

Tom looked up surprised at this sudden question, the False memory charm was proving to be a lot more handy than he expected.

"Ah," said Tom, he wasn't going to pass on getting a present when offered, but looking around the house he began to have second thoughts. As he pondered, his eyes came to fall of Morfin who was examining the wand in the dull light, a strange ring on his right hand glistening as he did it.

Tom recognised that ring; its gold band, its jet black diamond…but it couldn't be…the original ring of Salazar Slytherin? Here, in this grimy house, on the hand of this fool? Although, when he came to think of it, it did make sense as to why it was here…the Gaunts were Slytherin's descendants so they would've inherited what was left of his treasures and Morfin had mentioned a Slytherin necklace too.

"Do you like it?" asked Morfin all of a sudden, watching him staring at it. "It's pretty isn't it? But it's too tight for me," he laughed, glancing down at it, "I have fat fingers."

"Really?" said Tom, approaching him, "here give me a look."

Morfin, stuck out his meaty hand where squeezed on the index finger was the glistening ring, the band marked with a snake, its fanged mouth open. Tom felt his heart race; it was the real one, the genuine ring of his ancestors, which seemed to throb beneath his fingertips as he touched it.

"You have long fingers," said Morfin abruptly, watching him trace the black diamond. "The ring would fit better on you, do you want to try it on?"

Tom stared at him as if this was some kind of joke, but when he saw the sincerity in the man's crazed eyes, he smiled coldly.

"Sure," he said as Morfin yanked it off his finger, wincing in pain as he tried to slip it across his knuckle.

Tom wished that he would hurry with it; he was so anxious to try it on and at one point was half tempted to help him out by using a _Severing_ curse.

With a grunt, Morfin finally pulled it off and sucked his finger as he handed it over to Tom, who quickly snatched it up and put it on.

His eyes flashed excitement, as he held his hand out and admired the ring, which seemed to gleam even more, having been bestowed upon a worthier candidate.

"It looks hell of a lot better on you," remarked Morfin, who was now nursing his finger. "Do you want it? It hurts me too much."

Tom sighed and laughed to himself. "Yes, maybe I will," he said. "If it makes you finger better."

Morfin smiled widely, his small eyes bulging. "Please do take it!"

"Your too kind," Tom said clicking his tongue, and smirking at the ring once more, he turned and headed towards the door, only to stop when Morfin, called out to him.

"Sorry Mister," he said, his voice high. "But what's your name?"

Tom looked back at Morfin who was grinning stupidly, yet seemed hooked for an answer. Weighing it up, he knew that he wouldn't say 'Tom Riddle', that name was dead to him and wouldn't help with the whole framing situation. What he needed a good one, an alias…and then he remembered that he'd been working on one.

"So?" said Morfin, swinging his legs back and forth. "What's your name?"

Tom reached for the door and pulled it open, a cold gust of air blowing in.

"Voldemort," he said and with a faint smile, he slipped out, his reign of terror only just beginning.


End file.
